


Lie Until It's True

by GenericUsername01



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adjusting to society, Brainwashing, Child Abuse, Child Indoctrination, Cinderella Elements, Culture Shock, Feral Spock (Star Trek), Gaslighting, Kidnapping, M/M, Somewhat, cut the guy some slack, his childhood didn't exactly prepare him to be a functioning member of society, in a very cinderella sense, in a war and terrorism sort of way, raised by romulans, romulan words are actually not made up!, this borders on slavery actually, you know what - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-07-05 17:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15868764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: S'chn T'gai Spock is three years, two months, and seventeen days old when he is kidnapped by Nero and brought aboard the Narada.He is three years, two months, and seventeen days old when he is told he is a Romulan named s'Mrian Ataen. The life he thought he had was a bad dream.





	1. Kidnapping

Spock's day is normal. He wakes up, he eats breakfast with his family-- plomeek soup and pla-savaslar-- and Amanda bundles him up in his dustcoat and sends him off to what she calls 'Vulcan preschool.'

The school day is short, only five hours. Parents require a great deal of contact with their young at this stage, as it is when they first come into their telepathy. Familial bonds can take months or even years to form. Frequent telepathic contact will speed up the process, but Sarek does not meld with him and Amanda is unable to. Sybok did once, though.

Spock is three and he doesn't understand, nor does he care. He is just barely starting to understand logic and emotional control, and he has to add telepathy to the mix. His teachers say the next five years of his schooling will focus heavily on telepathic etiquette and shielding. In the mean time, Spock is not supposed to comment on the emotions and thoughts he picks up sometimes, because it makes the adults upset.

He comes home and Amanda prepares a snack of kreyla for him and puts him in his high-chair. He nibbles on the kreyla and babbles excitedly about his day.

He's learning subtraction in school, and also the names of all the shapes. Amanda plays kal-toh with him, and he proudly declares the piece configuration to be a dodecahedron. She smiles at him, and tells him he is very smart.

Michael and Sybok come home from their big-kid school and they're arguing about something-- apparently Sybok is illogical. Sarek is working late tonight on finalizing a new treatise regarding border protection protocol, and won't be home 'til well after Spock's bedtime.

The existence of Spock's bedtime at all is a hotly debated topic, mainly between Spock and Amanda. Even Sarek refuses to get involved.

Sybok and Michael fight over the remote, and Spock isn't sure who winds, but eventually the news is turned on. It is quite possible that both of them desired to watch the news, but failed to communicate this or fought needlessly anyway. They are prone to doing that quite frequently. Amanda says this is logical behavior for a nine- and ten-year-old.

There's been some sort of disaster, on the news. A ship blew up. In the middle of nowhere, on a star-charting mission. Reports from survivors say the ship was Romulan, and that even ramming a starship into it did practically nothing, just bought some time for the escape pods to get away.

But the disaster itself isn't actually the big news. The big news is that for the first time in history, Federation citizens have seen Romulans face to face, and they look just like Vulcans.

The news people are talking about scandals and cover-ups and whether there will be an uptake in xenophobia because of this. They ask if the Vulcan Council knew and lied about it. They talk about spies versus racial profiling. Amanda walks into the room and visibly worries. Sybok and Michael aren't fighting, both riveted on the screen.

Spock doesn't quite understand. Vulcans are not Romulans, obviously. Unless he is missing something?

They talk about complicated politics at dinner and Spock's brow is furrowed the whole time.

He brushes his teeth and goes to bed.

* * *

He wakes up somewhere strange and bright. A bald man with a face tattoo is leaning over him, looking worried.

He speaks with a universal translator, as if he doesn't know Vulcan or even Standard, which just makes Spock more confused.

"Ataen? Ataen, are you okay?"

Spock says nothing.

"Ataen, answer me," the man says.

"Are you talking to me?" Spock asked.

The man's brow furrowed. "Of course."

"...I'm fine," he said. "Where am I?"

"Medical bay. You had quite a fall there," an older woman says, approaching. "I just need to check that your head's okay, alright? Now, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I went to sleep," he said. "Where are my parents? Where am I? I want to see my mother."

"Your mother?" the man asked. "Ataen, your mother died when you were born. You know this."

"What?"

The doctor looked at the man worriedly. "I anticipated language deficits, but full amnesia was unpredictable."

The man placed his hands on Spock's shoulders and looked at him intently. "Ataen. You had a bad fall and you were in a coma for a very long time. Dr. s'Hwæhrai here says you were having a very long dream. It may seem like that dream was real, but it wasn't. You are s'Mrian Ataen. You are a three-year-old Romulan boy. I am your father, and your mother died right after giving birth to you. We live here aboard the Narada, and we have a glorious mission to complete."

"But that's not true. I'm a Vulcan. My name is Spock, and my mother is alive and loves me."

"No," the man-- his father?-- said. "No, Ataen. I'm sorry. Your mother did love you very much, but you aren't Spock. Spock is the name of the Vulcan who killed her." He turned his attention back to the doctor. "Why would he think that he was Spock?"

Dr. s'Hwæhrai shrugged. "Perhaps he overheard people discussing him while he slept and became confused. These things are tricky, you know. Children often take disparate pieces of information and patch them together any which way to make sense of the world. The confusion might linger for a while, and you should prepare yourself for that."

"How long could this last?" 'Father' asked.

"Anywhere from a few hours up to a week, I'd say. Hopefully not any longer."

"I'm not confused," Spock said. "This is not real. I want to go home now."

Both of the adults just looked at him sadly.

* * *

Spock began to doubt after the third hour alone in medbay.

This sure seemed real. The soft, thin blanket he was wrapped up in felt real. The bright lights above him seemed real. The steady beep of monitors seemed real.

None of the adults had seemed like they were lying. They hadn't even seemed like they were actively trying to convince him. At some points, they had talked over him, as if forgetting he was even there.

Dr. s'Hwæhrai said he was going to have to relearn Romulan entirely. Spock's father had seemed remarkably put upon by the idea, and it made Spock feel guilty.

But then he brought him a primer for it and Spock was floored at how familiar all the words seemed. He could swear that he didn't know them before, but learning it was just so, so easy. Maybe he had already known it.

Dr. s'Hwæhrai finally released him from medbay and his father led him back to their quarters. Other crewmembers saluted him in greeting as they passed. Spock watched all this in wonder. His father seemed to be very important. That didn't shock him, really, even his dream-father had been very important, as though that was an immutable characteristic that Spock could not possibly forget.

He still wasn't convinced that that had been a dream, though. It was just... It was getting harder and harder to deny that this was definitely reality. There was only one possible explanation. But Spock didn't like that. It made his heart clench painfully, and he felt he missed his dream-family, especially his mother.

Illogical.

They weren't even real.

Allegedly. Probably.

"These are our quarters," his eneh said. "Feel free to re-familiarize yourself with them. I will be back later tonight to fetch you for supper. You may wander the ship as you like, but do try to not fall and hit your head again."

"Yes, Eneh."

He looked at Spock sharply. "You are not to address me that way, Ataen. You may call me Alha or Riov or sir, but that is it."

"I-I apologize," he said. "It appears I have forgotten the meanings of those words. They were not in the primer."

"'Riov' means 'commander,' the person in charge of a Romulan starship. 'Alha' means 'master'," he said. He appeared to consider something. "I have changed my mind. You shall address me exclusively as Master."

"Yes, Master."

 


	2. Filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of this Romulan is made up. Some things I have noticed: there is a canon word for blowjob (tæntre'dhræu) and a word just for referring to Vulcans in a derogatory way, but it's unusable because it's Yyaio, and no, that's not a typo. There's also a giant bird native to Romulus whose species is called mogai. I found a page just for listing various insults, and then I found more insults that didn't even make the list. A single Romulan is called a Rihanha. There was so much other bullshit that I didn't even list, you guys don't wanna know.
> 
> hhakh = stupid
> 
> kllhe = worm/shit-eater
> 
> imirrhlhhse sui = literally "fuck time," essentially Romulan phrase for pon farr. I tried to translate it literally as "time of mating" but couldn't. The word fuck translates directly, the word mating doesn't
> 
> ih'feanna = idiotic
> 
> wortir = bastards

The crew exuberantly welcomes him back at dinner, chatting amiably with his father and each other. They ask how he is doing, and say how good it is to see him again, how good it is that he is well again. Some of them ruffle his hair and tease him for it, saying he's trying to impersonate a woman and getting ideas above his station. Spock soon realizes that only Romulan women allow their hair to grow out, and in such a firmly matriarchal society, that has come to mean a great deal.

Apparently Spock's hair grew out while he was in the coma.

The next day, his father shaves it all off for him and gives him a special solution to put on after he bathes every day that will prevent it from growing back. He seems proud of the result, and says that Spock looks like a proper young boy now.

Ataen beams.

* * *

His father is s'Mrian Nero, Commander of the Narada, Last of the Romulan Empire, and Spock is proud.

Three weeks into being on the ship and he no longer has any doubts about the dream-world he cooked up. That is not to say that he forgot. His eidetic memory ensures that is impossible. But he files the information very far away in the back corner of his mind, resolves never to think of it again, and it is as good as forgotten.

He relearns Romulan rapidly, is reintroduced to the whole crew, re-familiarizes himself with the ship. He helps out as much as he can, running small errands for everyone. He still finds his new clothes cumbersome and confining, these 'pants.' And when he learns that some of what he wears is made of leather, he balks. The crew just laughs at him, and he feels his face burn green.

Years pass, and things start to change. His little chores become expected and become much bigger chores. He learns more about the mission. They are waiting for Spock to come through the worm hole. When he finally does, they will destroy Vulcan in front of him, so that he can know the pain of the Romulan race. So that he can pay for the loss of their planet, for the loss of all those lives.

Ataen asks Nero one day if Spock's mother should be killed too, as he killed Ataen's mother. Nero smiles dangerously and promises that she will be, and his father too.

Ataen feels slightly mollified. That seems only right to him.

Sometimes, when the crew drinks-- synthesized blue ale that they say is a pale imitation of the real thing-- Nero comes back to their quarters and looks at Ataen like he's the most disgusting thing in the world, like  _he's_ Spock. He'll say cruel things those nights, talking about what a failure and disappointment Ataen is, how he wished his mother had lived instead of him, how he would sell him for one last glass of real Romulan ale. How he wishes he was dead sometimes, as his existence is such a painful reminder. How he thinks about killing him on occasion.

He's tempted to make him burn as she burned, but Nero is a soft-hearted man, so he thinks he'd break his neck instead.

Ataen never sleeps on those nights. He doesn't even stay in their quarters. He goes down to engineering and finds things to mess with, nervously fidgeting, until dawn, and even then he won't sleep.

One time he went eight days without sleeping for even a second, flinching and jumping at every sudden sound and movement.

* * *

Ataen is eight when he learns of imirrhlhhse sui.

Crewman s'Annhwi locked himself in his quarters for weeks, then burst out suddenly during lunch one day, feverish and wild-eyed, a fuzz of short hair on his head. He was screeching and raging and tore through anything in his path. He upended a table, put his fist into a bulkhead, ranting and raving and practically frothing at the mouth. He grabbed hold of Crewman s'Llhweiir, scraping teeth along his throat before biting down sharply, scratching and clawing at his clothes like a wild animal.

Ayel was the first to react. He unsheathed his sword, ran s'Annhwi through with it, and then cut it up and through his torso brutally. The man dropped dead, green blood flowing out of him in a puddle, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.

A few people chuckled.

"And that," Uncle Ayel said. "Is what happens when you're too much of hhakh kllhe to even claim a mate before imirrhlhhse sui hits."

He looked around, and everyone was still just standing there. "Well? Get back to work! And you, Garbage Boy, clean all this up. This place is trashed. I want the blood of that ataen scrubbed clean from the floors."

"What?" Ataen asked.

Uncle Ayel looked to him, and then smiled slowly, maliciously. "Oh. Did you not know the meaning of that word? Your own name?"

He said nothing. Uncle Ayel tipped his chin up to meet his eyes, still smiling.

"Ataen means 'filth'," he said. "Now clean."

* * *

Later, when they're alone, Ataen asks Nero about it. About both things.

"Why is my name filth?"

"Because you're a piece of trash and that's all you ever will be," Nero said. He raised an eyebrow curiously. "Surely even you're smart enough to have figured that out. Romulans do not give names without meaning."

Ataen bites his lip, and suddenly feels very small and very inadequate. He should have asked his second question first. Nevertheless, what is, is and he has set out to ask, so he will.

"What is imirrhlhhse sui?"

"Fuck time," Nero said, and Ataen flinched. "It's when Romulans go into rut and need to fuck someone continuously for a few days or else they'll die."

"Will I go through that? Go mad like s'Annhwi did?"

"Oh no, Ataen, I'll kill you long before it gets that far, I promise," he said. "You won't have to suffer like that. Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

"...Thank you, Alha."

* * *

Ataen is aware that he is a telepath. As this is never discussed, he assumes it's a natural state of being and that everybody else is a telepath too.

He knows that nobody ever touches him. This makes something deep inside him ache, his skin almost itch with the need for _something._

Sometimes he wishes his father would hug him. It's remarkably foolish. He knows that Nero loves him, and that he will kill him if Spock gives him half a reason. But they do not have the type of relationship that involves physical displays of affection. No, when Nero is feeling affectionate, he will praise Spock's technical accomplishments, or proudly state that he is turning into a merciless and honorable warrior.

So Ataen learns science and puts it to use. He modifies and perfects their cloaking device, taking it far beyond any tech ever previously seen. He builds up their computer system, making the firewall a fortress and enhancing its scanning range. They pick up every subspace message within three lightyears and Ataen becomes an expert at decrypting them. He improves the engine efficiency and tweaks with the replicator coding to make it more accurate. He studies the red matter extensively and improves the drill so that it operates 16% faster.

Nero's whole face lights up. He tells Ataen he is very, very proud and claps him on the shoulder and dinner feels celebratory that night, the crew laughing and drinking and singing the old songs of the mines. Ataen smiles and digs into his hlai meat, gesturing with his fork as he talks about how those ih'feanna Vulcan wortir will be crushed to death to the size of a speck. The crew laughs and cheers and calls him their secret weapon, the Vulcan-killer.

Ataen beams, basking in the attention, the acceptance.

And then Crewwoman s'Khæthætreh goes to steal a bit of bread off his plate and Ataen swats her wrist away, perfectly friendly, but then everyone freezes and the table goes deathly silent.

Nero stands up from the table, chair scraping backwards. His face is furious.

"Ataen," he said. "You will follow me."

He nods meekly and gets up from the table, following his father through the ship with his head down. For one terrifying moment, Ataen thinks he's being led to the ship's torture chamber, but no, Nero is taking him up to the bridge.

"Do you understand what you did wrong?" Nero asks softly.

"...I touched Crewwoman s'Khæthætreh?"

"I asked if you understood, not if you could guess."

"Sorry," he said. "No, Alha, I do not understand."

"Okay," Nero said understandingly. "That's fine, Ataen. You're only nine. You don't know everything. Sometimes I forget that, just how little you really do know, and for that I am sorry." He sighed, and gave his son a pitying smile. "You aren't allowed to touch anyone on board this ship."

"But why?" he asked. "You touch people. Uncle Ayel touches people. Everyone else touches people."

"You are not like everyone else. You are different." His lips twist into a grimace, and Ataen shrinks further into himself. "When you touch people, you can feel things, right? Their emotions, what they're thinking right then?"

Ataen nodded.

"That's horrible. It's an invasion of privacy. Nobody else does that, but you can't control yourself like other people. That sense you have? It's called telepathy. It's a mutation that the rest of the race has evolved away from, but you're our little caveman throwback who has it anyway. It's disgusting and I don't want to you to use it, not ever again. Is that clear, Ataen?"

"Yes, Alha."

"Good," he said. "The proper punishment for this is having your hands soaked in corrosive acid to melt the skin off. Dr. s'Hwæhrai would grow it back for you, of course, but it may take a while, up to a month."

Ataen went pale. He would not beg. Nero only ever laughed when people begged.

"But I guess I can't fault you for your own stupidity. And you did so good with that drill these past two months and worked so hard on it, so I'm feeling generous. I'll let you off the hook this time. I'm going to give you the lightest possible punishment, but don't expect this kind of favoritism ever again, do you understand me, Ataen?"

"Yes, Alha. Thank you," he said, nodding rapidly, eyes wide and voice full of relief and gratitude.

Nero gave a short, indulgent smile. "I'm going to chain you to a post in here like a dog with your hands cuffed behind your back and your eyes blindfolded. For a week. Every time you speak or-- god forbid-- touch someone, I'll add on an extra day. How does that sound?"

"That is... most merciful, Alha."


	3. Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> khoi-udt, veoth = drop dead, child  
> eikohh = nonlethal weapon  
> eikohhir = the same but plural  
> steiin = Romulan minutes
> 
> hey so since i've started this chapter, the site i was using to translate all the Romulan got taken down, and i found one semi-usable replacement site, but also it sucks, so there will be a steep decline in the amount of rihan used in this fic!! isn't that great :)

The Romulan week is six days long. Ataen was chained to a post in the center of the bridge for six days.

There was a bucket nearby, emptied every time it was used so as to not stink up the bridge. It was humiliating. Ataen was glad that he was blinded, in a way, so that no one could look him in the eye at all that week.

Everyone was aware of his punishment and encouraged to contribute to it. Crewmembers came by in their free time to sneer insults at him, to laugh at his degradation, occasionally to kick at his feet or slap him. 

On the fifth day a fist slammed into his stomach like a bludgeon, and then Nero's voice was in his ear, whispering,  _"Khoi-udt, veoth."_

And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

It took Ataen three days after the punishment ended to gather up the courage to ask about it.

"When I was being punished," he said hesitantly. "You hit me and told me to die."

Nero frowned. "No I didn't."

"But--"

"I would never hit you, Ataen. Never," he said. He rested a hand on the sleeve of Ataen's jacket. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Then why would you think that?"

"I--"

"Why would you accuse me of striking my own child?" he asked, slowly getting angrier. 

"I don't know, I thought-- I thought I heard--"

"No. You don't need to make excuses to me, child. It is clear you think me a subpar father, and if that's how you feel, then there's really nothing more I can do about it. I have been trying my best, Ataen. You know this. You know how hard it's been for me, after your mother, and with the way my own childhood--" He shook his head, turning away and trailing off.

Ataen bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I just-- I got confused. I know you didn't actually do that. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry, Alha, please forgive me?"

Nero turned back to him, stared for a long moment, and then slumped into a sigh. "I know. I suppose I can't fault you for thinking crazy things. It's not your fault you're so... the way you are. You're just a child; you're incapable of true rational thought," he said. "I'm sorry too. Sometimes I think I expect too much of you." He gave a wry smile. "Maybe when you're older. You'll understand just how much I've done for you."

Ataen said nothing, still feeling immeasurably guilty.

He spent the rest of the week apologizing over and over without words.

* * *

When a Romulan child turns ten, they are taken before a priestess to have their forehead tattooed with a word that is or will be significant in their life.

**LLIAHR**

Personified death.

* * *

"Again," Ayel said. "On your feet."

Ataen spit green blood out onto the mat and pushed himself to his feet. He glared at his father's second and readjusted his grip on the eikohh.

"If you are to be a great warrior one day, you must learn how to fight," Ayel said. He swung a leg out, and Ayel jumped back, just in time.

"I will never be a great warrior," he said. "I am to die young and you know it. My only hope is that I live long enough to see Vulcan fall."

He thrust the eikohh forward, and Ayel parried the blow. They circled each other.

"Don't fill up your head worrying about that. Your father will ensure it."

He swiped, and Ataen ducked and caught him in his side, right over the heart. Ayel grunted and refused to buckle, readjusting his stance.

"Why would he do that?"

"It's integral to his plan," he bit out. He swung with the eikohh, and landed a kick to Ataen's shin while he was distracted blocking it. "He wants you there, on that day, looking Spock in the eyes and saying 'Here. I lived, while you did not.' The ultimate revenge."

Ataen aimed a low jab for Ayel's stomach, then followed it up with a kick to the groin, an elbow against his spine when he doubled over.

He sneered. "On your feet, Uncle Ayel. Come on. Surely you won't be beaten by a thirteen-year-old boy?"

Ayel glared, and rushed him. He knocked Ataen down to the mat, swatted his eikohh away, and slammed a fist into his face, again, again--

Ataen spit up at him and Ayel sputtered. Ataen lurched and used the moment to headbutt him, twisting away and freeing himself, grabbing both discarded eikohhir and twirling them around in his hands before settling on a firm grip.

He grinned.

Ayel huffed, a hint of a smile on his lips. "We'll make a warrior out of you yet, Ataen. Supposing I don't have to kill you first."

"Supposing," he agreed casually. "I do not humiliate you in front of the crew for being so weak, and you do not kill me. A fair trade."

Ayel laughed. "Toss me back the eikohh. We go again."

"This is our fifth round."

"And if you were better at this, we wouldn't have to do it so much. The eikohh. Now."

Ataen tossed it him and assumed a defensive stance.

Ayel didn't give him a moment to prepare before he attacked. This round was harsher, faster, more brutal.

Ataen was this close to winning when suddenly Ayel yanked sharply on the tip of his ear, so hard Ataen thought it was going to tear right off, landed three quick, precise hits to his abdomen and felled him.

"Let that be a lesson," Ayel said. "You have more weaknesses than you think you do. You protect your throat, at least, but leave yourself open like that again and I'll go for your eyes next time."

He nodded, brushing himself off. He went over to the bench and glugged down water, polishing off more than half the bottle. Ayel did the same.

"Take a break, no more than five steiin. Then I want twenty laps around the gym and 150 pushups."

Ataen nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask anything. Your actions are your own. And how I respond is my choice as well. Don't say anything stupid."

"What happens after Vulcan is destroyed?" he asked. "What then? I appreciate the need for vengeance, but should we not be focused on survival and rebuilding our race? We are the last of the Romulan Empire, and we seem to be on a suicide mission."

Ayel eyed him warily. "If you were in charge, what would you do?"

"I'd contact the Romulus of this time line. We could put them so far ahead technologically. The Federation would never dare cross us. We could tell them of our future and prepare for it, meet it head on instead of being taken by surprise. We could live back on the homeworld. There is no reason for us to stay floating like the dead on an old mining vessel."

"You still think like a child," Ayel said. He exchanged his water bottle for a flask, took a long swig, and passed it to Ataen. "Peace is never a long-term solution. It's a myth. What you're describing with the Federation is a temporary cease-fire based solely on fear and shows of force. It would be wearying to maintain, and eventually, their own bravado would get the best of them. They would cross us whether it was smart to do or not. All things end in war."

"So what is the plan?"

"We destroy Vulcan. We destroy Earth. Then Andor, Tellar Prime, and every other Federation planet until there is no more threat. And on their ashes, we rebuild the Romulan Star Empire, greater than it has ever been, as it was always meant to be." He smiled. "Only then can we have peace."

Ataen nodded, digesting the idea.

He knocked back a swig of ale and stood to do his exercises.

 

 

 


End file.
